Hardwired
by JustAnotherPseudonym
Summary: Continuation to story A CAMPAIGN OF SHOCK AND AWE. Rachel and Quinn have moved into another phase in their relationship and as always have to figure out how to be together with all the choices they've made.
1. Stranger in the Mirror

**Disclaimer: **Okay so I don't own any Glee characters, that's a given.

**Author's Note: **This is a continuation to A Campaign of Shock and Awe. It's been a while, huh? I won't bore anyone with the details as to why unless asked. I promise it's nothing interesting. I did genuinely lose interest in this story and the characters because I didn't personally feel like I had anything left to say. I felt like I was being redundant. The good news is that I feel like that has changed. I've found my own voice with which to speak with and that means I can commit to writing again.

So thank you, Readers—Silent and vocal who have read and re-read.

* * *

><p>There are moments, moments that come in greater frequency, where she wonders who she would be if she had stayed in Lima, Ohio. She imagines that she might sale insurance or homes, because she has a pretty face and she has enough common sense to pursue opportunities as they arise. She also imagines that she would be married with at least one child already in day care. Though, she never imagines herself as a mother, not in the true sense of the word. Intellectually, she knows that she is technically already one, but there still exists a vivid disconnection within her between the act of giving birth and the commitment of being a parent.<p>

She imagines this distant fictional life and she can't help but wonder if she would have ever found happiness in it. Then, she wonders if she has found happiness in the life she is currently living, because she is unsure of how happiness should manifest itself in her adult life. The only happiness she can connect to exist in the memories she has of her childhood. It lives in the time before she gained a greater understanding of the world outside of the environment her parents had created for her, and it is immature and naïve.

So she is stuck wondering how to measure this life she has built and is still building. She is unsure of the boundaries and is constantly teetering between polar opposites. She lives never feeling settled despite the successes she can tick off like notches made on the belt for an ever expanding waistline. The secret to her success has always been that she's chasing down the stranger in the mirror just trying to find out where it is she fits in a world she always felt was a little anachronistic to her person.

Yet, despite the margins she never quite fit in, there is one thing she knows as fact—she knows she is meant to love Rachel Berry. She was built for it like the mountain was built to defy the will of gravity. She is made to withstand its forces and she is meant to stand strong. For her wife, she believes she can always be strong even when she feels like she is hurling towards the ground in a freefall.

Her love has turned into her one constant. It is her one truth.

That is why she feels all the more broken that she is now questioning her love. She is questioning her constant, and she can't even point out exactly what caused her to question it in the first place. It's not like she woke up and could declare that she has fallen out of love, because that is far from the truth.

She has always been and she will always be in love with Rachel. She can't imagine looking at her wife and suddenly feeling as if the woman looking back at her is just another woman that fits in with all the rest. The lack of love is not what tears them apart. It is not what breaks them.

"Quinn?" She looks away from the mirror and looks to the voice calling her name. Her eyes focus on the spot where her wife stands, but she says nothing. There is nothing she can say when invisible chaos is pulling her apart. "We have to decide how to respond to this."

Quinn looks over Rachel's body, appreciative of the nuances that have developed with age. She likes the maturity in her wife's eyes. She likes the beginnings of wrinkles developing on the edges of her wife's lips. "What do you want me to say?" She asks her voice already waving the white flag of defeat.

"Something," Rachel instantly replies. "I just want you to say something." Her voice doesn't hold the cadence of a victor. She, too, waves her flag of defeat knowing there is no point in arguing since arguments have become passionless conversations that involve some semblance of disagreement. They each take their corners knowing that at least trying to argue is somehow better than turning their heads away and covering their ears.

"Maybe," Quinn briefly closes her eyes but forces them open again when she realizes she is shutting out her world. "Maybe," she repeats, "we should try telling the truth for once."

Rachel's eyes don't widen in shock. She doesn't gasp in surprise. She simply stands in front of her wife, looking into Quinn's eyes as if she has been given the script of this conversation beforehand. "That's what you want?"

Want? Quinn scoffs at the idea of wanting anything, because she has forgotten how to want. She has forgotten how to desire. She has forgotten…things that once overwhelmed her and filled her with emotion and passion. She has forgotten how to live in the eye of the storm.

"You know, Quinn, I'm really tired of protecting you," Rachel spits out her ire after Quinn's silence lingers a moment past her level of patience. "I'm not good at being this person!" She yells her confession to the room as if the windows and walls will somehow take her side.

A spark of true unmitigated anger rises like bile up Quinn's constricted throat. "No," she says. "No, you don't get to do this."

Rachel's fists are balled at her side. Her emotion is held in control through the rhythmic tightening of her hands. "Some might say this is long overdue," she throws out her words making sure they hit their mark like her fists would should she be brave enough to raise them. "I want a divorce."

For all of her tendency to be prone to dramatics, Rachel has never before uttered the word 'Divorce'. She never wielded their marriage like a weapon to strike out with when upset with Quinn, because their marriage has always been sacred. It has always been the thing untouched by pettiness and untainted by disdain.

Quinn stands, but doesn't move closer to her wife. She doesn't want to risk proximity ruining her righteous ego that has risen from its ashes. "No," she repeats, "you don't get to do this. You _never_ get to do this."

"Why not?" Rachel's question is more of a demand than an inquiry. She must know why. She must know how. She must know all the things there is to know in order to understand what became of them.

Quinn has the answer readily falling from her lips, but she stops from saying anything because somehow the answer doesn't seem as firm as it once had. "Is this about the interview?" she asks her own question instead, finding her doubts reason enough to equivocate.

"You can't be serious?" Rachel whispers.

No, Quinn silently agrees, she can't be. She can't stand in front of her wife and engage in a serious conversation about divorce. It isn't in her. It never has been. "We promised," she whispers her answer because her arsenal is depleted and Rachel isn't as willing to avoid what has thus far been too long avoided.

Slowly, achingly, Rachel unclenches her fist. She peers down at the palms of her hands where the edges of her nails have left their marks. The ring on her left hand catches her eye. She is reminded of her promise and is reminded of her guilt.

"Everyone doesn't always need to know the truth," she says and moves closer to Quinn. Any thoughts of divorce have dissipated, for now. "But we do need to say something."

Already Quinn is too tired of talking to possibly be able to _say_ anything. She is exhausted from never quite knowing when she'll blurt something out that will make the vultures of her world stand at attention in anticipation of her imminent downfall. She is exhausted from questioning everything and everyone. She is exhausted from the metamorphosis she is undergoing without her complicit consent.

When she again looks into Rachel's expectant gaze, Quinn only wants to turn away again because when she looks at her wife, she is reminded of the lies she has told herself and the lies she perpetuates so that she doesn't stand up and walk out in a rage. She teeters on the edge of pulling apart their world and setting fire to it just so that she'll never have to see any of it again.

"We tell them," she says as calmly as she can as she fights off the resentment that grows in the pits of her stomach, "that I was speaking hypothetically." She is using an old trick taught to her by a master of misconception. She is fighting the truth by questioning its very existence—denials can be overturned in favor of the truth; perceptions, however, can always be skewed which never makes them a lie.

"There's no such thing as hypothetical pregnancy," Rachel is quick to point out, but her voice is weakened by the weight of her admittance. "And," she adds to her confession, making it mix into their world like blood rolling across dry sand, "no hiding that I have broken our vows."

Quinn immediately turns away so that the echo of Rachel's words fall across her back. Why, she wonders, does Rachel insist on pushing at the facts like there is some prize to be won. "Are we back to telling the truth, then?" She asks already knowing that Rachel's answer will never be the answer she wishes to hear.

Ultimately, at the core of herself, Rachel is selfish. She has always been. It is a fact Quinn accepts as much as Rachel accepts Quinn's cruelty.

"No," Rachel whispers and then opens her mouth as if to offer some reasonable explanation but only manages to repeat, "No".

Quinn turns back around, feeling some small speck of satisfaction at having Rachel admit that it is she who is at fault. It is Rachel's mess and her creation. She cannot go tearing into rooms demanding anything. It is _she_ who broke their promise. It is _she_ who painted their lives with brokenness. It is _she_ who deserves this torment of uncertainty.

Yet…they both suffer, and though she is loath to admit anything aloud, Quinn knows she is not without fault.

"We'll announce that we've been planning for a family," she offers up another lie to cover up the last. "We can figure everything else out… later"

"Please," Rachel nearly begs, "don't spin this into something else to be fixed up and made pretty. We both know it's more than that."

"Don't you know?" Quinn takes a condescending step closer to her wife. "Fixing it up and making it pretty is the only thing we have."

The words land like a grenade thrown into a tank of gasoline. Their truce combusts and leaves them both feeling as if their skin is on fire from the burn of betrayal. "If I can't ask for a divorce," Rachel grates out her warning as she boldly invades Quinn's personal space, "then you can't throw this all at my feet. I fucked up. I know that. I _know_ that! But just because I have sinned doesn't mean you're a saint."

"Careful," Quinn reaches out without thought and places her hand upon her wife's hip, "someone might overhear you speaking and draw the conclusion that you actually still give a damn."

Rachel's eyes widen as a quick denial forms on the edges of her lips, but then she just as quickly silences them. She will lie to their vultures and she will lie to herself, but she won't lie to Quinn. She can't. "I'm tired of the charade, that's all."

"Is that what we are?" Quinn's rhetoric question falls heavily upon them both. It weighs them down like a winter blanket spread across their bodies on a hot summer day.

"I didn't mean it like that," Rachel eventually defends her words, not quite sure why she is making the effort. Quinn should know that _they_ are not and could never be something false. Maybe, they too easily stumble and are too readily misdirected, but they are not made up like some reality show proposal. They are real and genuine and it is those facts that make divorce not an option. It is those facts that disallow bailing out now that the _in love _part of their Love is threadbare and almost too delicate to touch.

Quinn looks at her wife, measuring the words Rachel says since there must be another meaning behind everything they now say. Nothing can be just what it is. "I know," it is a whispered confession tacked up by the same lack of clarity as their whole conversation has been from beginning to end. It is too easy to talk without saying anything, and too easy to retreat when something of value might actually be said aloud.

Rachel looks around them, somewhat surprised to see that the room isn't torn apart. Nothing has been thrown out of place or lies broken on the floor. They are the only ones that stand broken. "I have to get to the studio," she says since there is nothing else she can do or say. "I have a meeting with Leona."

Another retreat and suddenly Quinn is filled with rage. There are years between them that have suddenly been set to burn to the ground without either of them fighting for it. "And what is Leona supposed to do this time?" Quinn wonders. What else will they owe to a woman who keeps them and their careers relevant in an age where the crowd's attention hardly lasts long enough to remember a name?

Rachel sighs. She further disengages from the conversation knowing that she is about to confess to another betrayal. "Leona and I are deciding how we are going to deal with the pregnancy on _Hardwired_."

A part of her wishes to be surprised by Rachel's explanation. She wishes to feel something other than having expected it. Leona, if nothing else, is consistent about handling crisis—she attacks it like it is a looming shadow of death set to suck away her very soul. It makes perfect sense to now turn to her for answers, but it should have been the both of them turning to Leona. Rachel should not be set to walk out the door to conquer the mere inconvenience of her infidelity without her wife's input.

"I suppose," Quinn manages to speak though her throat feels as if it is being torn apart by the effort, "that I don't get a say in this?"

Their eyes meet for a brief moment before Rachel looks away. She knows her betrayal only grows over time, its consequences far reaching and burdensome. "Why would you want to put yourself through that?" she asks, genuine in her last ditch effort to protect Quinn from some of the damage already done.

"You," Quinn accuses with a raised hand, "you of all people should understand how much more it hurts to have life dictated to me as if I am too fragile to make my own choices."

"No!" Rachel immediately denies, emotion more present now than it has been in their last two months of hell. "No, Baby, it's not that."

Quinn's hand falls and rests helplessly at her side. "Then what is it?"

"I'm tired of hurting you," Rachel says, as she risks taking a step closer to the un-caged rage that flitters across Quinn's eyes.

A bark of laughter escapes from the deepest recesses of Quinn's pain. "How typical of you," she accuses. "How selfish; it hurts _you_ to see me in pain so why not deal with it at all?"

Rachel stops the denial that almost bursts forth. She is in no position to deny anything—Quinn knows her too well. "Does that mean you want to come? You want to meet with Leona as we discuss how to deal with this?" she motions to her midsection as if it somehow can fill in the gaps to her story that have yet been voiced.

Quinn knows that if she refuses then she will only be conceding to Rachel's original selfish decision. But Leona is not known for her compassion. She will not look at Quinn with sorrowful eyes and offer up tea and a shoulder to cry on. Leona will carry on and ask questions that Quinn has not yet bothered to ask. Leona will strategize and wonder if Rachel's relationship with the father of the child continues. She will push and press without mercy until all the relevant and irrelevant facts sit below her on a chessboard of her own making.

"Go," the order can barely be heard over the pressing silence. "Just go."

Rachel takes a half-step forward before pulling completely away. She doesn't know how to comfort her wife, mostly because she is unsure if she is allowed to cause the pain and mend it. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Quinn nods but says nothing further. She walks out of the room and doesn't look back.

* * *

><p><em><span>Past<span>_

Rachel Berry supposed that she had naturally grown accustomed to being famous alone. She had learned to share the spotlight out of necessity, but things now called for her sharing in the glory very differently than before. Her fame was no longer solely her own. Her work was no longer hers alone. She shared it all with her wife, the stunningly beautiful, the unimaginably talented, the… sadly broken Quinn Fabray.

Naturally, Rachel was ecstatic when Quinn agreed to join the cast of _Hardwired_. They approached the matter much like they had approached so much in their life together. They just did it, and only considered the consequences after it was too late to take anything back. They promised to figure it out along the way, ever confident that they could accomplish something amazing again. Especially since getting married wasn't really the hard part for them. The difficulties didn't crop up when it came to staying together. The difficulties appeared when they had to rely on one another, when they had to open up and let the other person into the darkest most hidden away parts of their psyche.

Figuring that out, well, that was something still to be determined and left as a work in progress. Because Rachel was so extremely happy that she got to see her wife every day. She was proud of all the things Quinn had accomplished as _Hardwired_'s resident evil doer. She was thrilled with all the attention the show she produced was getting. She just wanted it to be all because of her. She didn't want it to be because Leona Conroe, the executive producer, had always had a long term plan to get Quinn Fabray cast onto the series.

Was that so wrong for Rachel to have wanted to do it all on her own? Was it in some way selfish that she wanted to not have her beautiful, wonderful, wife be the one who propelled _Hardwired_ from being the number three show on television to the number one? Which, if that was wrong then it must have been equally wrong for her to be happy that she was nominated for an Emmy and that her Oscar Award winning wife had not been.

Rachel knew that Quinn pretended to not care about awards, but Rachel knew better to believe that particular act her wife put on. Quinn cared about winning. She always had since they were kids. Quinn had always been the one to truly step up against Rachel's own force of a personality to battle… whatever it was teenagers battled over, to the very end.

They both pretended to be better people than they actually were, and still tried to pretend with each other. The pretending had been knocked up a notch since they had begun to work together. It couldn't be helped since Rachel was the boss and Quinn was just another cast member like all the others. Boundaries were drawn and sometimes, in an effort to not cross them, pretending happened.

Like now, when Quinn pretended she enjoyed that her upcoming storyline in season two consisted of her character being revealed as a drug addict. The plotline hadn't been Rachel's idea, but she hadn't been opposed to it. It was good solid storytelling. It would surely get Quinn nominated for an Emmy in the coming year. It would challenge Quinn to explore new facets of her profession that she hadn't really explored since she had filmed the dark musical that gained her that Oscar.

Everyone knew that Quinn was capable of taking the character she played to the very edges of destruction. No one doubted that. It is only Rachel and Quinn that truly understood that making that trip could very well ruin the beautiful and talented Quinn Fabray. It is also only them that understood by default it was Rachel asking Quinn to do , in part, is what sharing the spotlight meant. Rachel got to ask things of Quinn that she would have hated anyone else for asking of her wife. In return, Quinn got the credit for being the irreplaceable driving force behind the show. Neither of them could say whether it was a fair trade off. It probably didn't even matter if it was. It was their life and they loved each other. It was a bit of a shame, however, that they could count on two hands how many people actually knew that they were married.

They did all these things for each other. They made sacrifices and efforts to maintain equilibrium but no one really understood the effort. Most everyone thought that Rachel and Quinn were the very best of friends. They grew up in the same small town, enjoyed the same small town life experiences and protected each other in the crazy world of entertainment. It was under wide consensus that one day they would lose their alliance and become just like every other backstabber in the industry.

Granted, the consensus probably would have been the same even if people had known that Rachel and Quinn were married.

"You should have warned me about this," Quinn said as soon as she and Rachel were far away from prying eyes and overly alert ears.

"No one else got any warning," Rachel defended herself. "All of the cast found out at the same time about season two." It was her only defense. She had known well in advance what the writers had been writing and what the producers had been pushing for. They all wanted more of Quinn Fabray, but they didn't want _Supergirl_ Quinn Fabray. They wanted the dark and tortured Quinn that could add some real drama into what was already a very successful hour long drama.

All Quinn wanted to say was that she wasn't just one of 'all of the cast'. She was Rachel's wife and as Rachel's wife she deserved to know that she was going to be asked to delve into those bits and pieces of her that were still covered in bandages because they had not yet healed. She wouldn't say it, though, because she respected her wife's position. She forced herself to respect her wife's position. So she swallowed down her defense and decided on another route.

"I want to renegotiate my salary for this season, then." Quinn crossed her arms in front of her and squared her stance. "The new _Supergirl_ movie will be released this year and I feel that my portrayal in _Hardwire _might effect my box office numbers." She wasn't even sure that was something she could demand, but she sure damn well was going to try. "I think I should speak with Leona."

"Quinn," Rachel sighed already exhausted by the conversation. She had been building up this argument in her mind since they had started the storyboard for the second season. She had been working on her defense. She had been tearing herself apart all day knowing that this moment was coming. "That's not going to happen. The audience demographic is completely different."

"We'll see," Quinn smirked knowing that she in part had achieved victory.

Rachel narrowed her eyes and looked over the woman standing in front of her. This argument wasn't about more money. It wasn't even really about Rachel not giving Quinn fair warning about the upcoming season. Rachel could see the fear in her wife's stance. She recognized the uncertainty Quinn was masking with anger and ego.

"If at any moment you feel like you can't do this," she stepped closer to Quinn "let me know and I will tear apart Leona's office until they rewrite everything."

Blindly they walked into territory where the boundaries were blurred and pretending was ignored. It happened with them every so often when they had to each decide what was more important: their work or their love. Maybe Rachel would eventually hate Quinn for asking her to demand an entirely new season be written—despite the improbability of it—but maybe Rachel would never hate Quinn and she would only ever hate herself for not choosing Quinn over her career.

What meant more…that was always the impasse that rested between them.

Quinn blinked a few times and then shook her head. She wouldn't ask Rachel to un-write what had already been written. She would do her best to make Rachel proud, both as her wife and as her coworker. "I'll make it work," she promised.

They stared at each other, wanting to close the physical gap that dwelled between them, but they had learned to keep their distance. The world was overrun with cameras and they really didn't need to be video recorded without their knowledge as they made out in a dark corner. Making out in dark corners was purely relegated to being outside of office hours.

If they happened to be caught dancing at a night club a little too closely, arms wrapped around each other, lips pressed together, then that was a different matter entirely.

"I'll see you at home?" Quinn said in lieu of pressing her lips against Rachel's.

"Of course." Rachel took a step away from her wife. "Do you want me to pick up dinner on my way?"

"No," Quinn replied. "I'll cook tonight."

Rachel reached over and took Quinn's hand in her own. She might have been bending their rule about physical contact at work, but she wasn't breaking it. "Thank you." It was her recognition that this time her career had won and Quinn had let it.

Quinn only nodded as she squeezed Rachel's hand. They held on a moment longer before Quinn turned away and then walked to the nearest exit. Rachel watched her wife leave and then turned back to get to whatever meeting she was going to be late for. She pushed her doubts out of her mind and forced herself to carry on.


	2. Bent not Broken

**Disclaimer: **Okay so I don't own any Glee characters, that's a given.

**_Author's Note:_ Firstly, I would like to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I think it's kind of wonderful how genuinely involved some people are. Secondly, I see that not only have I rocked the boat some people think I have sunk it. If anyone has followed me as a writer, you'll realize I'm not very vocal. I tend to let my writing speak for me no matter how poorly or well executed the writing might be. But, I've decided to make an exception this time. So here's the thing…**

**I have not at all deviated from the original intent of this story. The chapter I posted before was written while I was still writing Campaign. It was always supposed to be a part of this, but I never posted it that way because I wasn't committed to writing any more Rachel and Quinn. Like I previously said, I felt like I lost my voice and was just posting stuff just because I needed to (show of hands of anyone who felt the same?). I've always wanted this story to be more than a love story. I wanted them to be completely committed to each other through everything and I wanted to write that because I wanted to understand it. On a level of exploration that I only delve into with my writing, in a venue I can ask questions about my world and provide the only answers I have, I just wanted to get it.  
><strong>

**So thank you. For reading, for writing me and for being involved—hate it or love it. I still strive to understand.**

* * *

><p>Talk, talk, talk. Words. Words. Words. It is all supposed to mean something isn't it? The reason she even continues to put herself through this is so that all of this can come to some meaning, but the more she talks and the more words that are said… It all kind of seems like nothing. It's starting to seem like a mistake without reason, an action taken without thought, a hormonal delusion. It starts to seem like something much less than the destruction of her life.<p>

How could he mean nothing to her? How could she wrap her body around his and it only be about satiating an organic desire? How? Could? She?

"Do you love him?" The question is asked like an item to be checked off a grocery list. The asker doesn't care at all about the emotion. She cares about acts and facts. "Does he love you?"

"What does that matter?" Rachel doesn't care to talk about emotion. "I will not leave Quinn."

Since this conversation first begun, the emotional distance Leona provides is the only thing that lets Rachel talk about this. But Leona's distance is overtaken by the sudden humor sitting on the edges of a smirk. "I don't get you in-love types," she casually wonders as she throws the pen she's been taking notes with onto the table. "Your loyalty appears the strongest after you've already left."

Rachel shakes her head, unwilling to engage in another conversation where her villainous ways are highlighted and judged. "Can we stay focused on work?"

Perhaps anyone else in the world would have acquiesced to Rachel's desire in an effort to not further rattle the cage of pain. Perhaps, anyone else would have recognized the delicate situation and acted as a friend instead of pushing at sore spots. But Leona Conroe doesn't act always within reason or within expectation. It isn't always clear if she pushes because she wants to make anything better or if she pushes because she is the Goddess of Chaos.

"I can multitask." Leona leans onto the table, unhindered by Rachel's anger.

Rachel jumps out of her chair, her eyes dark as she stares down at the woman she so often must back down to. "This isn't some game, Leona. This is my life. This is my marriage. The only reason I'm here is because I need to fix this."

"And, I," Leona points to her chest, "I can fix this?" She asks her incredulity creeping on the edges of her words. "You think I can make this right?"

"You can do something," Rachel's intensity doesn't lessen even though her train of thought is hopelessly flawed. "You've always done something."

Friend or foe? Their relationship has never been clearly defined. Leona pushes when she should step away and steps away when she should be the pillar of support. She operates in the dark and speaks in half-truths, but she is hardly malicious. She is the only silent sentinel that has stood witness to Rachel's marriage from the very beginning.

She understands Quinn more than most. She sees all the things that Rachel sees, and in some cases she sees them long before Rachel even notices. But Leona is no savior.

"What have I done" Leona genuinely wonders, "for you to think I can help?"

A last ditch effort is an effort nonetheless. "I love her more than anything." What brief moment of strength infused Rachel's body is now gone. In its place is the knowing that she is reaching out for something that cannot undo what already has happened. "I just don't know how to make it better."

Leona leans forward. She is unafraid to meet Rachel's pain, no matter how severe it might be. "I'm not an optimistic person," she carelessly confesses. "But you and Quinn are not broken, Rachel—you are just bent."

Slowly, Rachel retakes her seat. Her eyes are wide and inviting. She wants to hear the words, no matter how cruel, Leona has to say. "Why do you say that?"

"I say it because, well, I guess because it's true." Leona leans back into her seat. She crosses her arms in front of her as if she is protecting her body from the force of Good Will. "You both did… real shit things." She shrugs as if the conclusion is set before them, etched into the wood of the table. "So fix it."

"How?" It is the ultimate question, even more important than the 'Whys' of it all.

Leona shrugs, "Hell if I know. I'm not quite the in-love type."

Rachel looks over her friend (?). She is a woman who is always in complete control, though the rumors of her black heart linger in the hallways like a cloud of deception. Leona makes selfish choices. She, too, is broken and doesn't always do the right thing since doing the wrong this is so much easier.

"Do you take any responsibility for this?" Rachel wonders aloud. "Do you feel guilt about any of it?"

Leona takes in a deep breath, and as she releases it she seems almost close to a confession. But then she blinks and her precious balance of cruelty and kindness reignites. "I asked and you both made your own decisions."

The accusation is more truth than lies. Rachel's ambition and Quinn's fear of failure tripped them both and made them stumble. Neither of them could push back and point fingers at the woman who never made a promise past wealth and fame. So, Rachel nods. She looks down at her hands and then takes on the only role she is still comfortably with. "So what about _Hardwired_? What do we do?"

Now that she is back in familiar territory, Leona uncrosses her arms and makes things easy. "We hide it behind huge purses and conveniently placed vases."

Rachel begins shaking from her relief. "Thank you," she whispers, reminded once more that Leona isn't always cruel and heartless.

Leona drops her head into her hands. She doesn't wish to pursue another trail of conversation that will lead Rachel to seek out comfort. "Go home," she orders. "Climb into bed with your wife even if she doesn't want you to."

"Do you think she'd allow that?" Thus far, since the inevitable confession of infidelity, she and Quinn have hardly been able to share the same space. They try, but somehow things begin to unravel and words become weapons. Nothing is said that means anything. It is just hate, pain and accusation being screamed out at the top of their lungs.

"No," Leona shakes her head. "She'll push you away like a disease infested blanket, but you've got to try." She looks away as she stands up. Again, she is coming too close to being heartfelt. "You stopped trying, Rachel. Quinn started to spiral and you…stopped trying."

Leona's words act like slap to the face. She hasn't said anything that Rachel hasn't already silently confessed to. She knows the things she wishes she could do differently. She has the list of actions she would undo if she could turn back time. But, this is the first time her real betrayal has been recognized. Even Quinn stops from voicing it.

"I know," it is a miracle that Rachel doesn't choke on her own words.

Leona turns further away. She moves towards the door and opens it, dismissing their entire conversation completely. "Fix it," she says again before she walks away.

Rachel doesn't follow. She waits until Leona is far enough away before she even bothers to leave. Like a body made from half inorganic things, Rachel finds her way home on autopilot. She pulls into the driveway and waits a full ten minutes before turning off the car. A part of her is always surprised to find her house still standing. Its sturdy foundation no longer properly reflects the state of its habitants.

She takes another breath, but gets out of the car and walks into her home. It is silent. Inside it is lonely.

"What did Leona say?" Quinn's voice travels from the top of the stairs.

Rachel doesn't immediately answer. She knows that once again she has run away and returned only at the end of the disaster. 'You stopped trying', she tells herself, but she knows that in some things she has always been a coward. She has always wondered if she is strong enough.

Another breath. Held and released. A step up one stair and then another until she is looking directly into her wife's eyes. Her hand reaches out and she rests it atop Quinn's thigh. This time, she doesn't pretend to not notice the red rimmed eyes or the too pale skin.

"Leona says we can hide it," she says. "It won't be written in."

Quinn laughs as if she is being told another cruel joke, but she doesn't move away. "Leona has a heart?"

"I think sometime she tries." No promises. No arguments. "But if you want to do something else then we'll figure it out."

"Why would I want anything else?" Quinn's voice has a cruel edge, but her eyes don't house the same rage.

Rachel leans onto the step just below Quinn. She is trying to not over-think. She is trying to take action when she is so used to pulling away. She is trying even though she might be too late. "We are not broken," she says trying to infuse her words with the same conviction Leona had spoken with.

Quinn closes her eyes. Her hands shake, but whether it is from emotion or withdrawal neither of them can say for sure.

Since she is not refused, Rachel continues to push. She drops her head onto Quinn's lap and then must force herself to not react when thin fingers comb through her hair. "You are the only one," she confesses.

"I know." It is a thing that has never truly been questioned. It has just always been even when it was a thing neither of them understood. "But it still hurts, Rachel, more than anything."

"I know." No apologies. She can no longer apologize for something she can't defend. The reasons already stand between them as they always have—bent but not broken.

* * *

><p><em><span>Past<span>_

Some headaches came and went, but some headaches lingered as if the brain were trying to make a forceful escape from its captivity. Leona rubbed at her temples hoping it would keep her mind from attempting a successful prison break. She had been in meetings all day and all she had to show for it was a rebellious brain and stiff shoulders from the tensed muscles in her neck.

She looked casually down at her watch hoping to signal that her tolerance for any further waste of her time was running thin, but the men sitting across from her were unaccustomed to her signals and so ignored them. Leona looked at her watch again, making an effort to read the exact hour and minutes displayed so that she could explicitly recall the time she officially decided to commit double homicide. She was beginning to not care that one of the young men sitting across from her was the son to a very prominent investor. Any losses could be recouped even while serving a lifelong sentence in prison.

She was just a survivor in that way and always had been. The only apologies she made on her behalf were often said too softly to hear even in an empty room. Life's sins, she reasoned, weren't meant to be sorted out by the living. It was the motto she mentally stitched behind her eyelids when she first discovered that it was physically possible to die from a black heart—a lesson learned long ago never to be forgotten.

As she looked around the table her eyes settling on her wanted and unwanted guests, she took some small pride in the lessons she had learned. She cannot easily claim that her companions possessed the same hard earned education. Fancy Boy Pants and his business partner, she knew, certainly hadn't gained anything from the golden ticket they were given in life.

But Quinn Fabray, Leona intuited, Quinn Fabray was a completely different lexicon because she reeked from the stench of a scarred black heart. Leona admired that about Quinn, having recognized a sister in arms, but it was also the very thing that made her choose Rachel Berry as her lead on _Hardwired_ instead of the ghostly beautiful Quinn Fabray. Ultimately, stability was more desirable than what being a mental rollercoaster architect could create.

Leona had once tried to build an empire surrounded by those she shared a mental kinship. It hadn't taken long before she was sifting through the ruins trying to figure out if she had been burned alive. What singed pieces she could paste back together, she used to build another empire built on the solid foundation of boring and predictable stability. She discovered and used the Rachel Berrys of the world to keep all of her structures standing. It was just her dumb luck that sometimes the Rachel Berrys of the world came equipped with a standard issue of the Quinn Fabray kind.

The two of them had been sold to her as a pair. It was a fact Leona recognized the minute she had first seen them together. Even as she watched them sitting next to each other as they did their best to pay attention to the boringness taking place in front of them, Leona could tell that they were as close as two grains of sand—almost indistinguishable except for under a microscope.

Quinn's eyes swept away from the man who had the floor and then met Leona's. Their eyes locked and Leona silently dared Quinn to be the first to look away. When their eyes broke apart, Leona ticked off another mark under her imaginary victory column. It was beginning to become a nuisance that her victories weren't accumulating as rapidly as they had in months past.

Things were changing; some might even make the claim that things were evolving down a natural course. Quinn's confidence, for one, had been growing as she gained familiarity with her role and fell into the pit of self-importance. She was beginning to challenge authority and push the edges as anyone in search of boundaries was want to do. And then there was Rachel, who was taking her role as producer very seriously, eagerly making amateur mistakes and then just as eagerly swinging authority around like it preceded the importance of respect.

Everyone and everything was evolving and changing. Leona had already placed her bets on how it would all work out in the end. Per usual, she bet on herself even though her betting game was more akin to Russian Roulette than Blackjack—there was always more to lose than just a hand of cards. If it all came crumbling down it didn't matter where she stood, the sky would fall on her. So she considered it an unfortunate fact that she was a mere mortal, because her mortality meant that Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray got to sit in on meetings with boring aristocrats who wanted to pitch a few hopeless ideas in exchange for their investments. It meant that Rachel's contract had been revised so that within six months she would be named as another executive producer for _Hardwired_. It meant that Quinn Fabray got to tag along for whatever reasons seemed relevant at any given moment.

Leona looked down at her watch again. "I'm sorry to interrupt, Sam," she finally spoke up, "but I'm going to let Rachel finish this out. I've got another place to be." The high point of the changing times? Leona could push off the things she didn't much care for to Rachel Berry.

"We can reschedule if you need?" Sam asked, his voice relaying his concern that he was essentially being dismissed. Everyone knew that if Leona pushed off a meeting then she wasn't interested in the project.

"I assure you that Ms. Berry is more than capable of finishing this meeting," Leona offered before she stood up. "I will, however, ask Ms. Fabray to join me. We have another meeting to get to."

She didn't wait for anyone to respond before she turned and then walked out of the room. Her disinterest had grown beyond her need to control it. Her mind had wandered and she felt more like tackling the other things that demanded her attention.

It only took a moment longer until Quinn met her in the hallway. Quinn dipped her head and looked at Leona from under long lashes. "Why do you look guilty?" She asked.

"Ms. Fabray," Leona smirked, "I'm always guilty of something. Right now, I'm guilty of needing to self medicate with Tequila, and I'd love you to join me."

"What about Rachel?" Quinn looked back at the door they had each just walked through.

Leona waved away Quinn's concern. "She's fine. This is a learning opportunity for her. Besides, I want to talk to you about season two."

"Fine," Quinn acquiesced knowing that there was no going back since Leona was once again already moving without concern of anyone else's input.

They walked across the street to a small bar called the 'Executive Suite'. Leona was rumored to have built the establishment just so that she would have a place to go to get drunk during office hours. The rumors hadn't yet been confirmed, but Quinn knew that there was probably some truth in them.

"You're looking at me like you're trying to figure me out," Leona commented after she ordered them their drinks.

"Maybe I am," Quinn said, making a conscious effort to not back down when Leona directly challenged her. She wasn't sure if her newfound bravery was foolish or just plain stupid, but she didn't want to continue being at such a disadvantage with Leona. Some realities couldn't be altered, like the fact that Leona held Quinn's career neatly in her hands or like the fact that Leona was probably one of the most unpredictable people Quinn had ever met.

They were two women at war and they both knew it. Leona looked at Quinn, weighing the alternating dynamic to their relationship. She could either let it grow or snuff it out before it threatened to become permanent. "I'm not a good person, Quinn Fabray." She casually admitted. "At least not where it counts. So mystery solved. Let's drink our Tequila and discuss how we're going to get you through season two."

Quinn hesitated in accepting Leona's obvious brush off, but despite the years she had known Leona, there was no bridge connecting them. Quinn didn't even have enough rope with which to hang herself. "Rachel and I have discussed it," she said instead as she picked up her shot glass. "I think we'll work it out fine." The shot glass was then lifted to her lips and the liquor ingested in one gulp.

"Have you ever been addicted to anything?" Leona boldly asked, her own shot glass held loosely in her grasp.

Their eyes met, and Quinn considered lying just to see if she could get away with it. "Depends on what you consider an addiction." She decided on vague words knowing that she was speaking in Leona's favorite language.

"Hmm," Leona intoned and then swallowed the Tequila in her glass. "Addiction," she said as she cleared her throat from the burn of the liquor. "Addiction," she repeated, "is holding onto the ground even as it collapses beneath your feet."

"And you know this from personal experience?" Quinn guessed once again prying into places Leona had never left open for inspection.

"I ruin people's careers, but try not to ruin their lives." Leona turned to the bartender and then ordered another two shots. "Speak up if you can't do what we're asking of you, Quinn." She didn't turn back to look at the woman she was talking to. "I'll give the storyline to Berry and pray that she can shelve her personality enough to pull off being a tortured soul."

Leona was perceptive, but Quinn already knew that. What she didn't know was that Leona's offer wasn't at all genuine. There were no possible plans for a season two re-write. There were no discussions on the possibility of Quinn's refusal to take a walk to the very edge of sanity.

"If I couldn't do it," Quinn whispered as she reached out to pick up another shot, "I would tell you." Her defenses were raised. This conversation didn't at all resemble the same one she had partaken in with her wife. She had felt Rachel's sincerity, and well, Leona's sincerity seemed to have been paved under cold cement.

"Perhaps," Leona shrugged, "but I have a crazy feeling that if you needed to tell me you were at risk, then you'd think I wouldn't care."

Quinn wasn't quite sure if she was being called a liar or if it was just her mind too eagerly conceding Leona's point. "Rachel and I have come to an agreement," she admitted.

"I will forever respect the agreements sealed between two lovers, but," Leona sighed and ran her hand through her long wavy hair, "I can't always trust it."

Trust, Quinn wondered, was that what all this was about? Was Leona just looking for a place to lay down her burdens? She watched as her executive producer raised a full shot glass to dry lips. "This season is going to be better than all the rest," she promised.

The harsh liquor was smoothly swallowed, and then light grey eyes turned back to look at their prey turned predator. "If at any time you need a timeout let me know." Leona felt as if she had suddenly been stripped of a precious secret.

Quinn felt the thrill of victory wash through her. She chased the feeling with her second shot of tequila hoping it would draw out the pleasantness that enveloped her. "You'll be the second to know."

The first, Leona knew without asking, would be Rachel. It made sense for Quinn to tell her wife all the important things first. "I won't ask for more," she said and then turned away once again and ordered another round.

Quinn and Leona fell into silence, neither knowing what new path their conversation should take. They lacked a common ground they were willing to stand on, and what similarities they possessed were too fragile to be examined. So, they shared another shot and another until Rachel showed up half an hour later complaining about being left alone with Tweedledee and Tweedledumb.

She sat and shared a drink with them until she claimed the hour to be too late to continue any socializing. Quinn clumsily paid for their drinks and then fell into Rachel's solid embrace. She let her wife guide her out of the bar, and as they reached the exit she couldn't help but look back at Leona who had claimed she would find a way home on her own. That's when she realized that she was not and could never be anything like Leona Conroe. Though, it was a truth discovered under drunken conviction instead of revelation of fact.


	3. Dare to Love

**Disclaimer: **Okay so I don't own any Glee characters, that's a given.

**Author's Note: **So this chapter is (first half of it anyway) the first one that has been written outside of the original _Hardwired_ chapters. Everything else was previously written just not constructed in the same format and not completely posted. I do thank everyone for their reviews. I don't wish to belabor any points so I won't address anything specifically, but I do thank everyone for sharing their point of view.

* * *

><p><em><span><strong>Present<strong>_

Work real hard. Work every day and use it as an excuse. Let work be the reason why conversations are pushed off. Let work be the reason why time spent apart is okay. Let work be the answer and the question. Let it be the excuse. It works as an excuse. It always works because work springs from a childhood dream. And no one wants to be responsible for smothering someone else's dream.

It is no different for them. It has never united them. It never allowed them to cross a great divide. It was always a separate thing until they made it something they could do together, which was a decision made for all of the right reasons. It allowed for their nomadic love to find a stable home. But now, it is used as a wall and not a bridge. It keeps Rachel working late and makes Quinn go to bed early. It lets them avoid each other even while sitting in the same room.

It has always been exactly what they make of it. Nothing more and nothing less. It is not a magical cure nor is it a natural disaster. It just is because they are not their characters. They have never been false archetypes played upon the screen with a script to accompany each action. There is no pause for applause or marks to be hit with unerring accuracy for the camera lens.

That they have at times taken their roles too seriously is an understandable fact since each is a perfectionist in her own way. That they have at times taken home the characters on screen is not unheard of since leaving work at work is sometimes easier said than done.

So with work being such a big part of who they have become, it is especially poignant that they now think nothing of it. Neither of them is rushing off to make it an excuse to separate. Because, for the first time in a long time, they are in the moment and have no desire to pull away. They have stayed the entire night sitting next to each other on their bed, staring ahead at nothing in particular.

They are not fighting. They are not callously picking at wounds too sore to yet properly heal. They are doing nothing but sitting with each other in silence. The sun has long since taken over the night and a phone call or two has been missed, but still they sit. Neither is backing away.

"Are you hungry?" Rachel eventually asks as she sees the subtle shaking starting to take over her wife's limbs.

"I don't think it's food that fixes this," Quinn mutters with a self-deprecating grin. This is not the first time her wife has seen her in this state—though she does always hope it is the last.

"No," Rachel softly agrees, "I guess it isn't. But you should eat something anyway."

"Is that the first thing you want to do?" Finally their eyes meet and they are drawn in to each other. Things are simpler when they are like this. They have always been stronger when they are not exposed to the world. "You want to fatten me up?"

With some of the layers of pain stripped away, Rachel is bold enough to reach out and run her hand across her wife's cheek. "You need it." There is no reason for her to mince her words or pretend like what is so apparent is false. They are past pretending. "When is the last time you ate?"

Quinn shrugs knowing that her answer won't win her any favors. It is easier to stay silent than to admit to the things that she still isn't quite sure how to talk about. It is especially easy since the things she doesn't admit to are the things that will hurt the most to say.

"It doesn't matter, Berry," her voice is rough with the affection it is unused to displaying.

The grip Rachel has on Quinn's face tightens slightly. She is used to being pushed away—it seems more like habit now than an active request. "It does matter, Quinn. Your health has always been very important to me."

"Is that why you walked away?" It is an honest question said with more want for knowing than anything asked in recent memory. "For my health?"

Taking a chance on words meant taking a risk in falling back into the ways that pushed them apart instead of focusing on what brought them together. "I didn't walk," Rachel admits trying to hold back the bitter pain that comes with her memories, "As I recall, I was pushed."

To voice any denial would be a lie, and Quinn isn't quite strong enough to tell one. "But you still left."

"And you've always been terribly good at isolating yourself from everyone and everything around you." Rachel doesn't want to take responsibility for her own flaws, at least not yet. She doesn't want to admit to how easily she was pushed.

An inarticulate mutter takes the place of the curse that Quinn actually wants to say. She knows, from the very depth of her being, that her Rachel doesn't ever unwillingly walk away. _Her _Rachel always finds ways to stay and fight. _Her_ Rachel always keeps grounded even when Quinn so eagerly is set to fly away.

But, Quinn took advantage of _her _Rachel. She took it for granted that the person who so readily and eagerly stood beside her loved her—completely—even in the broken places.

Quinn looks away from her wife and then down to her shaking hands. They serve as a ready reminder of exactly what roads she's taken to make it to this point. "I guess I could eat," she acquiesces because at some point she must simply give in. At some point, she can no longer look at her wife and see an enemy.

Rachel maneuvers so that she can look into Quinn's eyes. She needs reassurance that she is not being dismissed or handled. Her breath hitches as she sees something that has been too long hidden away—she sees her wife and not just the mirage. "Baby," she whispers, as tears spring forth from the edges of her rising hope.

There is no need for Quinn to question why her wife's eyes are suddenly filled with tears. She knows that the one person who knows and sees her completely would easily recognize that she is pulling out her proverbial sword to fight this…thing that has taken over. "Let's not make a big deal of this, okay?" She warns.

Warm hands move to cover Quinn's shaking ones. "No," Rachel gently denies, "this is a big deal." It has always been something bigger than either of them were previously willing to admit to. Life was easier when they didn't admit to it. Pushing it away meant Rachel could avoid her guilt and Quinn could avoid her weakness. It was easier…until it wasn't.

"Well, let's not make a big deal of it now." Quinn knows that the commitment to recover is too fresh to not risk being rescinded.

Rachel's agreement falls from her without her complete consent, but she is happy for it nonetheless. In this, her most important second chance, she wants to get everything right. She doesn't want to walk away feeling like something else has been swept under a façade of contentment. "I'll let you know when the food is ready," she says when she finds no other words at her disposal.

Before Rachel can fully remove her grasp from Quinn's, her hands are held tighter still. "This isn't all on you," Quinn admits. "Don't think I don't get that."

Rachel leans over ever so slowly. Before her lips make contact with Quinn's, neither can help but wonder if a kiss between them will feel different now. Each considers pulling away, not quite sure if they are pushing too far too quickly. Warning signs erupt from the houses of their doubts and they are on the verge of retreating, but suddenly they are too late.

Their lips meet and everything is different. Their kisses have always been and will always be a dare—a dare to stay, a dare to possess, a dare to be possessed, a dare to be, a dare to love.

As they pull apart, both realize that they have been stuck waiting. They went about this whole thing all wrong. They thought they broke apart and came together like every other couple in existence, but they are not other couples. They are the women who decided marriage was the answer to stop from breaking apart. They are the women who thought living their lives in secret made them more honest than anyone else. They are the women who lived apart for years because living together might tear them apart.

They are not women who can be like everyone else. That is not how they work. That is not how they live and that is now how they love. They cannot wait to be made right.

"I love you, Rachel Berry," Quinn admits for the first time in a long time.

Rachel let's Quinn's words wash over her, easily reminded of the first time her wife confessed her love—also done in a moment of crisis. She was relieved then like she is relieved now, because there is still some part of her that believes Quinn will announce that their relationship is over. One day, Quinn Fabray will realize she is married to Rachel Berry and suddenly everything will be over. Poof. Gone.

Perhaps that is why she so easily stopped trying. She saw Quinn deconstructing their life and considered herself to be collateral. It was easier for her to move on than to be told to leave.

And her insecurity has brought them this.

"I love you, too, Quinn," Rachel says and it is her recommitment to believing that they will not disappear. They will not fade away.

_**Past**_

Maxwell Richards felt that life should be wrapped up in a warm fuzzy blanket of simplicity and gratuitous entertainment. He hadn't become an actor to revolutionize the craft or to commentate on social schemas. He cared little about the things people often told him he should care about, because he was a simple man. It was a lifestyle choice, made under the past weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

_Hardwired_ was his chance to redo all the things he had previously mucked up by believing in a deeper meaning. The television series was his lucky break number two and he damn well was going to make sure it lasted. He had no plans to go down in a blaze of glory. So, he took exception to having seen his lucky break hovering over the open flame of Rachel Berry's and Quinn Fabray's impending disaster.

The acrid smell of his burning dream had begun to make his nostrils flare when Quinn Fabray had been made an addition to the cast of _Hardwired. _Maxwell was one of the very few who saw the news in a less than savory light, but he had the advantage of knowing things that others did not. He knew that Rachel Berry, their current lead, and Quinn Fabray, everyone's new favorite co-star, were married. The two women were together in the same sense that his grandparents had been together for over sixty years—wrapped up in the tropistic nature of love.

His grandparents had a wonderful story, and Maxwell had grown up believing that kind of love was just another thing lost to the new generation. He padded his belief with the fact that life was no longer solely about growing up only to marry and settle down. There was more opportunity afforded the youth than a cycle stuck on repeat, and that made it simple for Maxwell to choose his ego over any chance of love.

Then, he had seen Rachel Berry and Quinn Fabray together without the benefit of not knowing the truths they purposefully avoided while in public. He saw them, and he couldn't look away. He couldn't un-see the things he saw. He had already tried and failed to not notice that even in a room filled with people somehow Rachel and Quinn managed to stand alone. He failed to not recognize the silent ways they communicated without much care to who else might have a say.

Then, he convinced himself that their love spelt disaster for anyone else caught under its influence, because it could ruin everything. If the news got out that the two stars of the show were cuddled up and cozy then _Hardwired_ would turn into a battleground of insinuation and political agendas. There was a blatant statement in the fact that two women who played enemies on screen shared a bed in real life. Even if Maxwell couldn't put a name to the exact statement it made, he knew that it wasn't something that would be looked upon with neutrality or disregard.

Quinn and Rachel couldn't even look at it with indifference, though he was sure they tried to hide whatever personal emotion they felt. But, he saw their feelings written across their beautiful faces. He saw it even as he stood across from Quinn and had to lean in close to seal their onscreen attraction with a lustful kiss. Quinn's character had just finished convincing his character that her recreational use of cocaine was to only make their humdrum life a little more exciting. She played his temptress and he let her lead him to the river Styx.

It was a pivotal moment in their character's development since he so willingly disregarded his unfulfilled love for Rachel's character, Leah. This was the beginning of the secrets and lies that would drive the season, yet as he leaned even further towards Quinn he saw her eyes drift over his shoulder and Max didn't need to guess at who was standing behind him.

Rachel Berry wasn't in the scene. There was no reason for her to be present as an actor, but as a producer she was overseeing production.

"Cut!" Their director, Helena, yelled frustration leaked into her voice. This was their third attempt at the kiss. The first time Maxwell had kissed Quinn like he was being forced to make out with his brother's wife. The second time Quinn had accidently kicked Maxwell in the thigh as he guided her to the couch. The third, well the third had Quinn looking more interested in what their producer Rachel Berry would say instead of enjoying her victory of winning the man her nemesis desired. It was Helena's daughter's birthday and she wanted to get home at least before midnight. "Okay everyone take a break. Quinn, take a walk with me?"

Maxwell and Quinn disentangled their limbs, and then Quinn followed Helena as she walked away to a safe distance apart from the crew. Rachel stood cemented to the floor trying to decide if she was supposed to join them. She was saved from the choice when Maxwell grabbed her by the hand and requested her input on his botched performance.

When they were far enough away from anyone who would want to listen in he unleashed his frustration. "You need to go home," he hissed.

"No, I need to be here," Rachel quickly rebuked though she was glad to be away from the scene she had had to stand through for the last hour.

Maxwell gripped at his temples. He had no real qualms about yelling at his boss, since he knew Rachel's power was held in check by Leona Conroe. "Your woman is hot, Berry," he freely admitted. "She's every straight guys dream come true and I get to make out with her."

Rachel's hands lifted to rest on her hips. "I don't think this conversation is appropriate."

"It's not," he quickly agreed. "We shouldn't be having this conversation but we are because I can't live out every man's fantasy with you here. Do you get what I'm saying?" He finally released his temples, his arm swinging wildly to his side. "I am supposed to deliver the fantasy and I can't and Quinn can't because you're standing over our shoulders."

Rachel's eyes widened at the mere insinuation that she was preventing her wife from properly doing her job. "Quinn is a professional. I expect you to be as well." Denial was noticeably absent from her words. She couldn't deny the fact that in the last take Quinn had been looking at her. There was no denying the small clinch of pain in her stomach as she saw Quinn's lips making contact with Maxwell's.

"When we go back in there," Maxwell pointed in the direction they had come from, "I'm going to make out with your wife. I'm supposed to enjoy it. I'm not supposed to feel like I'm making out with my coworker's wife while they watch on in the distance silently pointing a gun at my back."

"Gun?" Rachel tried her best to sound appalled by the insinuation. "There is no gun."

"No," Maxwell agreed, "no gun. But it's my career and I would hope that you respected me enough to not ruin it."

Rachel opened her mouth to protest, but quickly decided to keep silent since she was standing on crumbling ground. She was, in a word, selfishly possessive. It had always been a muddy reality of their profession when she or Quinn had to become physically intimate with another. They hadn't ever invited the other to oversee the scenes nor had they spoken much about them. It was simply another thing that happened throughout the course of their day—not something to be pointed out or more than casually mentioned.

But now… it was different. It existed in a transparency that hadn't been named or defined between them. It awoke once sleeping insecurities that perhaps it was possible that Rachel was not enough for Quinn and maybe that Quinn was not enough for Rachel. What part of them was acting and what part of them wasn't?

These were all questions thought of but never voiced. Rachel felt that to voice them would mean she was in some way weaker than her wife, less professional, and maybe even not much changed from adolescence.

"Do you think that Helena is giving Quinn the same lecture?" Rachel wondered aloud.

"Helena?" Maxwell raised his brow in surprise. "Does she know the secret of which we may never speak?"

Rachel couldn't help but roll her eyes at Maxwell's sarcasm. "It's not a secret," she countered, "it's my life."

Her declaration gave Maxwell a moment of stillness as his brain suddenly recognized a piece of life's infinite puzzle slipping into place. He had defined Rachel and Quinn's marriage as a clandestine thing that was hidden away for reasons he assumed mostly superficial and scandalous. He hadn't the presence of mind to consider that their marriage was something more than an awaiting scandal. It was, he suddenly realized, their lives. It was their own much in the same sense that his grandparents' love story was a piece of his life. It was a story held within his heart that was his to share or his to withhold as he saw fit.

Rachel had judged him fit to be a part of her life and Maxwell somehow knew that her trust must not have come too lightly. Sometimes he hated that he couldn't so easily maintain the simplicity he preached as his one true desire. Briefly, he mourned simplicities demise as he gave into being a complicated man.

"I'm sure Helena is asking Quinn how she got that Oscar of hers," he joked in lieu of admitting his sudden enlightenment. "I'm pretty good lookin' and she don't got eyes for me."

Rachel dropped her forehead into the palms of her hands. "I'll find something else to do." She gave in and then turned and marched away from Maxwell before he forced her to admit that she was wrong and that he was right. She blindly walked past the set and towards a destination she hadn't yet decided on.

It was perhaps fate that she ended up in the same darkened corner her wife had escaped to. She slipped in next to her wife and then casually rested her head against Quinn's shoulder. Quinn's arm swept around Rachel's waist and pulled their bodies even closer together.

"Did you get a lecture?" Quinn softly inquired. "Max looked frustrated when Helen called me away."

"He was," Rachel honestly replied. "He thinks I should find somewhere else to be."

"Do you agree?" Quinn asked even though she didn't need to. She knew that Rachel would have gone immediately back to the set if she disagreed with Max's assessment. Still, she wanted to hear Rachel's opinion since they needed to establish some new barrier.

"Unfortunately, I find that I do." She closed her eyes suddenly feeling a sort of tired she couldn't immediately identify.

"Well Helena thinks I worry too much about your opinion of me." Quinn decided to fill in her wife on the pep talk she had received from their director.

"Do you agree?" Rachel mimicked Quinn's previous tone.

"Unfortunately," Quinn smirked even though it was hidden from Rachel's view, "I find that I do."

Rachel opened her eyes and forced herself to step away from the warmth and comfort her wife offered. "I'll wait for you," she promised. "Go finish up."

Quinn took a quick look around finding them to be properly removed from anyone else and then quickly pulled her wife into a deep kiss. She let her desire build despite knowing that duty required it to remain unfulfilled. There was money being spent and people waiting for her to perform a fictional account of her more basic desires.

As they pulled apart, Quinn tried to imagine feeling so breathless and wanting after kissing Maxwell. Her imagination fell flat. She wasn't that good of an actress.

"If you kiss him like that," Rachel whispered as if reading her wife's thoughts, "I'll make you sleep in your car."

"I don't think it's possible for me to," Quinn freely admitted.

"Good." Rachel was silently relieved she was her own competition. "Now go and deliver a performance we both can cringe at."

"I love you," Quinn said in all seriousness. She had no desire to walk away from Rachel with important parts of their conversation still mostly unsettled, but she did have prior obligations.

"I love you, too," Rachel whispered.

Quinn leaned in and brushed her lips delicately against Rachel's as if she was handling a very precious thing. "I promise not to be long," she said as she pulled away.

Rachel only nodded and then removed herself from Quinn's personal space. They had already broken several of their established rules as they took the moment to settle upset nerves. It was, however, Rachel realized, a very necessary moment since it eased something much more important than their professional egos.

Quinn looked at Rachel for a moment longer and then walked away. As she arrived to the set she had successfully slipped back into the life of her character. She was an island of a girl lost in addiction and succumbing to an impending disaster.


	4. The Here and Now

**Disclaimer: I don't know these characters. **

_**Present**_

Quinn has never truly sat down to think about the_ what happens next _part of her marriage. For too long she has been living in the _here and now_ that rests on the border between contentment and chaos. She has not mastered the art of planning ahead, because she is always too busy trying to outrun herself.

Even now, she fears that if she looks over her shoulder she'll see her angry image chasing her down while yelling out words meant for her demise. She has no guarantees that she will not be trampled on by the pieces of herself that know of nothing except of the pain buried deep in her poisoned heart.

Her upper middle-class childhood pain...looked down upon and judged by those who truly struggled to survive. She does not feel as if she has the permission to lament about her father's abusive cruelty, her mother's alcoholism, her child given away for a better chance...

She had a roof over her head and food in her stomach and wanted for very little. So, what right did she have to complain? At least, that's what her mother had always slurred at her after another day of too much alcohol having been imbibed.

Quinn Fabray was blonde, pretty, and to be envied-as long as she properly hid the bruises - she was perfect in just about every way. But since perfection was difficult to maintain, and since it is inevitable that her internal pain would match the external, perfection started needing assistance.

First, it was the pills her mother stored away. One was taken every so often just to be able to sleep through the night. But every so often turned into more often than not and then there weren't enough pills to sneak away. Luckily enough, it wasn't too hard to find a doctor willing to believe a young adult woman should be taking enough pills to topple over a small horse.

Quinn was diagnosed with depression, chronic pain, anxiety, ADHD and anything else that her family doctor had no trained experience in diagnosing. Quinn had enough refills to last the entirety of her high school years and college...no follow up visits required.

There was the one pill to help her get through the day when her father yelled about her not being good enough. Another pill for when her mother knocked on her door in the middle of the night and then begged for forgiveness for not being a good enough mother. And then, there was the pill that let her feel numb enough to walk through life so that she would not scream out for mercy.

That is how Quinn Fabray lives...and it is a perfectly acceptable way of life since the pills are prescribed by a medical doctor. She has medical conditions that need long term treatment. What does it matter that no doctor since the first has bothered to question any of the diagnoses original made? Sometimes, one pill is traded out for another but the supply never runs out and questions are never asked.

Even Rachel accepted most of it, and those things that she didn't quite understand she made sense of by knowing the struggles of her wife's childhood. It was easier to reason it away than to look down upon it and question whether Quinn had ever tried live without the blue pill, the red pill and the white one.

The abnormal was normal, and questioning it would undoubtedly spark an argument that would turn Quinn towards a cold rage, because Quinn knew that her solution for getting through the days had turned into a dependency. She knew it the moment she took the first pill that helped carry her away from _what might come tomorrow_.

And now, fast forward to years down the road, and she is still stuck in the _Here and Now_. Except, she is starting to realize that her _Here and Now_ is rooted in the _Days Gone By_. Life moves on around her and with each instance of change she is less equipped to adapt and less able to sustain her façade of wellness.

That has never been more apparent than in this moment as her pregnant wife stands next to her staring down at the medicine bottles they've gathered. It is not everything, but it is a start.

"I can see why you lived with him," Quinn declares as the evidence of her decomposing self lies in front of her.

Wisely...fearfully, Rachel does not respond.

Quinn reaches out and picks up the bottle that contains her favorite choice for escape. She reads the label, though there is no reason for her to. "I never chose this over you," she whispers. "It might have seemed like it, but I never did. The only time it ever won was when you left."

Rachel swallows the thick lump of anger that rises at hearing Quinn's words. She knows that just because they are moving towards mending fences does not mean that the fences aren't still very much broken. "Don't," she begs. "I don't want this to be tainted by an argument."

Quinn snickers, and in doing so is suddenly reminded of her mother and the way her mother laughed away the chaos she so often caused. Quinn closes her eyes and the bottle in her hand begins to burn at her flesh. "I always tried to choose you," she amends.

"I know," Rachel admits and for a moment, that is all she's going to say. But then, she remembers breaking her wife's heart as she walked away from her. "I should have tried harder to choose you over myself." It is a blatant admission of selfishness that Rachel is far too often unwilling to admit to.

Slowly, Quinn opens her eyes. She places the bottle that is in her hand back onto the pile of pills. The moment is overwhelming in the facing of it, but it is underwhelming in what she has expected to feel. It is too much and not enough all at once.

"If someone were writing out our story," Quinn asks, "do you think they would give us a happy ending?" Her question is full of insecurity and hope. She wants to hear from Rachel, just one more time, that they can move forward. She wants to know that Rachel is hers forever. She needs to start believing in it again.

Rachel's eyes trace down to Quinn's empty hands. She wants to reach out, but she is unsure if she still has permission to do so. "If someone were writing our story," she tries to say but she stumbles over her words, and then she no longer cares if she has permission to touch Quinn. She reaches out and takes a hold of her wife's waist. She pulls Quinn in closer and rests herself against the one person in the world that she has always, without question, loved-even when not knowing it.

"If someone were writing our story," Rachel again tries to answer, "they could never get it right. They could never know us well enough to know what our happy ending would look like."

Thankful for the support, Quinn leans down and rests a benign kiss on Rachel's cheek. "Then I guess we write it ourselves," she murmurs as she pulls away. "And I guess we start by throwing this stuff away."

Quinn begins to pull away, but Rachel forcefully pulls her back. They stare at each other. Seconds pass by and still they stare. Neither of them dares to turn away.

"I think I'm going to kiss you," Quinn's words tear through their silence like a lightning bolt striking through a stormy sky.

Rachel nods, "Okay."

"Okay," Quinn affirms before she leans down and places her lips against Rachel's. "I was wrong," she whispers the moment she pulls away. "This is how we start."

"Okay," Rachel says again, but this time her permission sounds more like a promise.

"Okay," Quinn returns the promise before she leans down again and rests her lips against her wife's.

_**Past**_

Inevitably, the promise to maintain professionalism at work was broken. They spent too much time on set to pretend like they weren't in love with each other. Too many early mornings and too many late nights meant that they would slip and say things like 'our house' and 'don't forget the eggs'.

At first, people pretended to not notice. Whether that was because they feared punishment from Leona or because they didn't know how to broach the topic nobody said. But, the guise was eventually shattered and with it went a small piece of Quinn's and Rachel's matrimony.

Their relationship became a part of _Hardwired_ when it had never before been a part of anything other than that which existed between them. They shared more than they were accustomed to sharing and lines blurred. They mixed and matched and not everything came together right, but not everything turned out wrong either.

There were moments when the both of them couldn't imagine doing anything else in the world or being anywhere else. But then, there were times when...work won out over love.

"I'm not buying it," Leona called out from behind a monitor playing out what the camera was capturing. She was perhaps too involved in the filming of the episode, but she knew how to feed into Quinn's darkness and that darkness was needed to portray the words that had been written.

The director, Alex Gars, looked over at Leona like he was on the verge of protest, but ultimately he knew better than to question the most powerful person on the set. "Maybe we should take a break," he suggested instead. "Quinn, decompress for a moment."

Leona's eyes surveyed the area and then she shook her head. "No," she countered, "no breaks." She walked up to Quinn and looked over the actors in front of her. None of them, in that moment, seemed good enough to play opposite Quinn Fabray. They weren't pushing Quinn towards darkness, but instead seemed to be shielding her from it.

Maybe it was a misguided sense of loyalty or perhaps they were just intimidated by Rachel's dour countenance standing in the corner watching over the scene. To Leona, none of it mattered. Quinn's character was the antonym to Rachel's-hers was the ant-hero and she was falling into darkness towards becoming the true villain of the series.

This was not the time for everyone to pretend like they were saving Super Girl.

Leona's eyes met the Day Player who was, for some reason- the reason escaping her in that moment- hired to bring Quinn's character to the last scene of temptation. "You're fired."

The man opened his mouth to protest, but Leona was not in the mood to pretend like she cared. "You're fired," she repeated.

After throwing out the weak link, Leona turned back to Quinn. "Now we can take a break. I'll take over so we can get this thing done and over with."

Quinn looked to Rachel, hoping for some token level of protest, but Rachel maintained silence. When their eyes met, Rachel was the first to turn away. They had already discussed the scene, as much as they discussed anything having to do with _Hardwired_. They knew that it was going to be intense and they had agreed that Rachel wouldn't interfere. She wouldn't protect Quinn from Leona, even if Quinn looked to be breaking.

Leona followed Quinn's gaze and briefly wondered what deal had been struck between the lovers. She considered pulling back and letting the subpar work pass by her unnoticed. By no means was she ignorant of what she was asking for, but Leona was a perfectionist. She demanded everything and settled for nothing less.

"Break's over," she announced before whatever deal struck was amended.

"Don't you need to get prepped?" Alex asked from across the set.

"No," Leona declared and then took the mark that the Day Player had left.

Alex shook his head as he reminded himself that he liked working so couldn't tell off Leona Conroe. "Okay," he said through a sigh.

The crew readied themselves to begin filming. Minutes ticked by and then it was time for Leona to offer Quinn her demise.

_Quinn leans against the bar. Her finger rolling over the edges of a short glass filled with whisky. _

_Leona eases in next to her. Her hand glides over Quinn's arm before reaching for the glass. _

_They make eye contact. _

_Neither looks away. _

_Leona's hand covers the glass but she doesn't pull it towards her nor does she move to capture Quinn's fingers which still linger on the rim._

_"Do you know the Secret?" Leona asks. _

_Quinn raises her eyebrow. Clearly, she is unsure of whether she is dealing with a joker or a jewel. "I don't think I'm your type," she says. _

_Leona grins as if she has accepted a challenge. "And I don't think I'm yours," she replies. "But you didn't answer my question. Do you know the Secret?"_

_"I don't like playing games," Quinn says as she begins to turn away but Leona will not be ignored. Her hand covers Quinn's fingers. _

_"Flip your palm up," Leona whispers the order into Quinn's ear. _

_Quinn's breath catches. Her eyes show doubt, but she is drawn in. The palm of her hand flips towards the ceiling. Instead of feeling the smoothness of Leona's skin, she feels a small piece of something fall into her grasp. _

_"The Secret," Leona begins to say, "is that we are the only two people in this entire place who can fuck the world." _

_Quinn looks from Leona's eyes to the tiny purple pill resting in her hand. "You have me mistaken for someone else," Quinn denies, but her desire shows in the very depths of her gaze. She wants to fuck the world. She is tired of toeing the line. She is tired of losing out. _

_"I don't make mistakes," Leona declares. "But if I need to make things a little clearer..." She takes the pill from Quinn's palm and then runs the tips of it against Quinn's mouth. "Stop standing in line for happiness." _

_Maybe on any other night these words wouldn't work on Quinn. On any other night, she might turn away and go back to the addictions she is used to. But in front of her is temptation. In front of her stands something new and exotic. _

_She reaches out her tongue and takes a hold of the pill. _

_Fuck the world. _

As the scene ended, there was nothing but silence. Everybody watched as Leona led Quinn into temptation and could see the very moment in which Quinn caved. Something inside of her broke and no one stood up to interfere- not even Rachel Berry who watched on with a hint of insecurity poking at her chest and a wave of guilt rolling in her stomach.

Leona pulled away from Quinn. "Now why was that so hard?" She asked of no one in particular.

No one was brave enough to answer her, because Leona had once again proven that she was brilliantly talented. There was a reason why Leona was as successful as she was. She dominated her space and demanded attention. She drew Quinn in even as she tried to actively resist.

"Finish up," Leona ordered and then she walked off the set. Every eye present watched her stride off as if she had just revealed the meaning of life itself.

Once Leona could no longer be seen, her worshippers disbanded. Rachel's eyes met Quinn's and then she turned and walked away. It was Quinn who did the chasing even though she was still recovering her strength from having been dismantled by Leona Conroe.

Quinn caught up with Rachel inside of her wife's trailer. Her breaths tore roughly through the air, and she wasn't quite sure why she had chased after her wife in the first place. She had nothing to say because her words would inevitably become a confession about how real the fake story was becoming.

"Do I need to try and stop this?" Rachel was unsure if her question asked was even worth asking. In the years she had been with Quinn, her wife rarely admitted to needing consideration. Quinn's method of dealing with her demons was to let them escape and explode in a wave of fury and tears. She let them be sated and then caged them again until she could no longer hold them in fetters.

Quinn didn't know how to respond. All that she could feel in that moment was a need to prove that she was not vulnerable. She was not her character. She had happiness and it was standing right in front of her. She had Rachel and they had a life together. Nothing could break that.

And to prove it, Quinn reached out and pulled Rachel to her.

Together, they took a step over the edge of sanity and landed into the throes of relentless passion. No boundaries existed between them. They were alive and could not be pulled down by the confession that rested on the tips of Quinn's reality.

Rachel reached out and ran her hand down her wife's torso and then let it wander and find hold between her wife's thighs. She was lost in the woman who lay beneath her. Here, like this, she could forget how real it looked as Quinn took the pill that Leona had offered up like it was salvation.

Quinn moaned as her hand tightened around Rachel's. Her nails were barely digging into her wife's flesh.

There was no silent battle waged in the back of Rachel's mind as to whether or not this was the answer to the questions that needed to be asked. The choice was easily made the moment Quinn's hand had captured her wrist. The outer world would be made to wait. It was irresponsible but things were evolving and neither of them had grabbed hold of the changes. They didn't look for a deeper meaning, though to be fair they never had ever looked for meanings beyond what was set on the surface. Not looking too closely at their pool of providence had served them well in the past. It had allowed them to become reacquainted after high school. It had allowed them to explore feelings held dormant and allowed for a marriage proposal after what was almost the equivalent of a second date.

Blindly falling in behind their whims was their way of survival, and in that moment, survival meant careless ecstasy. The moment gave Quinn a focus outside of looking back into the darkness where her angry shadow lived.

Quinn pulled Rachel deeper into her. Her need for escape was not fully satiated, nor was she sure it ever could be, but she was intent on trying to fill it. Rachel was willing to act as an escape, and she would need to be enough of a buffer from the past memories that tried to impinge on their _then and there_.


	5. Fault in the Fallout

**Disclaimer: I don't know these characters. **

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who continues to read this and to those who leave their comments, follow, and favorite. I do appreciate it. I also need to give a sincere thank you to **_**WonderousPlaceForAnEcho**_** who has acted as my sounding board and supporter even when I wanted to give this whole writing thing up. It's nice to have a person in your corner when you're working outrageous hours for seven months without a break, completely exhausted, and the most creative thing you can think of is that '**_**Blue**_** rhymes with **_**Shoe**_** and oh yeah did you remember to pay your mortgage.' So thank you. **

_**Present**_

At some point, she became tired of trying since from the very beginning of it all she has been always trying. At first, she was trying to figure out how the love of her life fit into her life at all. Then, she was trying to understand how to be married when she and her wife were too often on separate sides of the country if not the world. Then, she was trying to 'have it all' when she wasn't even sure what 'having it all' was supposed to look like.

So, without complete understanding, she was stuck in a constant state of trying. She tried to live life inside of the world instead of apart from it and let the world suffocate all the things that made trying worth it. She let the world dictate and demand and let it put limitations on how long her love could remain. She listened to the whispers that wanted nothing more than to salt the earth she stood on.

'She shouldn't have to work so hard for love,' they whispered. 'She was too desirable to be held back by a superstar whose star was fading,' they warned. 'She was getting too old to risk holding the weight of a woman intent on her own demise', they misled.

It was her insecurity that listened and it was her fear that ultimately drove her away.

Yet, there is a piece of her that has been abducted by her love, and it does not let her run away. It granted her body reprieve but kept her heart in its unyielding grasp. It laughs at her having tried to find contentment elsewhere. It mocks her with memories of fake love and fake smiles of happiness. And now, it points at her body and raises a condescending brow as it evaluates her growing midsection.

It asks without mercy, 'was it worth it? was giving up worth it?'

Of course, she can give no answer that is good enough. In this, it doesn't matter how afraid or how misled she had become. This is not a situation in which she can ask for a do-over. She is a mother now, and her growing child knows nothing of the drama in which it was conceived. Nor does it have the mental capacity to worry about its father and its mother's wife.

The child is innocent. Yet, it will suffer from the choices Rachel Berry makes. It will always question whether it is a mistake meant to be erased or an impetus that brought renewal into the lives of the adults around it. Either way, it will always have reason to question its conception and its fault in the fallout.

Rachel cannot empathize with being the target of a parent's resentment. She was born wanted and she did not want for love. Hers was a childhood of privilege and some part of her wants to believe that she is incapable of becoming a bad mother. She wants to believe that her privilege handed her all the tools needed to make a happy home. She wants to believe that she can do this alone.

She can at least try.

"Pregnancy suits you more than it did me," Quinn's words pull Rachel away from her reverie.

She hurries and reaches out to cover her nudity since she is unsure of what unforgiven trespasses her nakedness might bring forth. "I thought you were sleeping," she says as she wraps her robe around her body.

Quinn shrugs as she leans her body against the doorframe. "Sleep doesn't last very long these days."

"We should make you an appointment with a doctor who can help you with this," she says as she ties off the knot that holds the robe in place. "Neither of us really know what we are doing."

"Hm," Quinn nods her agreement and then her eyes trace to the floor. She is unmoving and her breath comes so softly it seems almost inexistent.

Rachel is unsure whether she should move back towards the bedroom or remain in the master bath that has become the stage for this impromptu showdown. She swallows once, then twice. Her eyes trace to the standalone shower and then back to the door. "It's late," she decides to say after the awkwardness begins to make her shiver. "We should..."

"You haven't asked about this," Quinn's words burst forth as if they are escaping the chains of doubt. "You come in here at night and look in the mirror at," she doesn't say the words but the implication of her meaning is displayed by the finger pointing helplessly at Rachel's stomach. "How long are you going to keep me waiting? Are you just waiting to go back to him?" Her hand drops and the burst of courage it took to ask the question leaves her, and she collapses into herself by taking a step away from the confrontation and crossing her arms across her chest.

Instinct drives Rachel forward before her common sense can hold her back. "No," she says. Her denial is forceful in its conviction. "No, no," she repeats. "I am here, all right? I am here and I am not leaving again."

The beginnings of tears form in Quinn's eyes but she does not let them fall. "You leave every night," she accuses. "You come in here to stare at yourself in the mirror and you leave."

Rachel closes her eyes. She takes Quinn's accusation and brings it in close to her heart where she carries all the pain that she inflicts on her wife. She will not offer a denial since to do so would mean telling a lie, because she does leave when she looks at her nudity.

She goes to the past, and she tries to predict the future. She tries to plan for all the variables and shoves her mistakes down her throat so that she is not doomed to repeat them. She tries to discover ways she can keep the child safe, not from Quinn, but from herself. She searches for the golden tablet that will tell her how to make it all better.

"Sometimes, I imagine us looking in the mirror together," she confesses. "You hold me from behind and we smile and kiss. We talk about baby names and argue about the color we are going to paint the baby's room." Her words carry them both to the imaginary scene. In it, they are happy and smiling. They are filled with the warmth of their love. "I want gender specific colors and you want gender neutral.

"But then, I remember that that's not how this goes." The imagining is torn away and together they land into reality as Rachel's hand draws Quinn's to her swollen belly. "I ruined that for us, and I ruined it for this child. And I don't know how to invite you into this."

"Don't invite me," Quinn says with a small shake of her head. "Just include me. Give me a chance to figure out my part."

"And what happens if you can't find it?" Rachel asks because she needs to know what risks she is taking. She needs to be able to account for the variable in which she is granted a child but loses her wife.

Quinn releases a soft breath, but she doesn't say anything. Instead, she reaches out and gathers Rachel into her arms. She sways them back and forth in timed movements that rock away the unanswered questions.

Rachel allows her arms to wrap around Quinn. She settles against her wife's chest and finds the moment of comfort. She lets Quinn kill the whispers.

"I'm going to try," Quinn offers even though neither of them have ever been so lost in the place they know they belong. "You've gotta remember that I suck at being a mother."

Although it came softly, Rachel still hears Quinn's answer in her layered confession. She hears Quinn calling herself a mother. She hears Quinn trying.

_**Past**_

Rachel Berry was not a woman that could have ever been accused of being submissive. She was the type of woman that could be given an inch and then take a mile. She didn't have an off switch and was not always the easiest person to keep up with or to rein in.

That is why it is so confusing to Quinn as to how _Hardwired_ managed to beat down Rachel's strength. Time after time, _Hardwired_ had asked Rachel to compromise and to give in and it seemed like each time it took less and less for Rachel to throw in the towel. It was almost as if the show's unmitigated success had somehow crushed Rachel's immeasurable drive.

When Quinn looked at her wife, she saw Rachel, for the first time ever, afraid of losing instead of afraid of not trying. She saw Rachel eagerly maintaining a status quo when before there was no status too precious to risk losing.

Rachel's zeitgeist had shifted and Quinn was not entirely sure that she was not partially responsible for the change, because something between them was changing.

They came to work together in the morning and then left together in the evening, but something was happening in the time between that was altering things between them. And if either of them knew exactly what it was, neither of them mentioned it. Neither of them were brave enough.

"I picked up your prescription for you," Rachel mentioned as they rested together on the couch in Rachel's trailer. "They said that you are out of refills."

"Hmm," Quinn inarticulately replied. "I'll get my doc to call in some more."

Rachel's hand ran across Quinn's arm. "When is the last time you saw him?"

"Don't really remember," she answered. "You know it's hard to with our schedule."

"Baby, it's important that you go. Your health isn't something that can be handled solely through phone conferences between you, the nurse, and who knows who else." Rachel's voice remained steady in its lecture. She was pushing Quinn into action and asking for some validation behind the reason why her wife took so little care in something that was so important.

Quinn stiffened but didn't pull away. "Rach, I'll take care of it," she dismissed.

"I can make the appointment for you or we can find you another doctor," Rachel offered.

That time, Quinn did pull away. "I said I'd take care of it," she spat. "This is something I've handled since I was a kid, Berry. I don't need your help with it."

Rachel's eyes fluttered and in them passed her moment of indecision of whether to press forward or to retreat. "I'm your wife, Quinn," she decided to push. "This is something I should be helping you with."

Quinn pulled further away. "Why get involved now?" She heatedly questioned. "You've never cared before."

"I've always cared," Rachel countered. "I just didn't know..." Her voice trailed off because she was suddenly too close to throwing out an accusation.

"What?" Quinn urged. "You didn't know I was this fucked up?"

"No, of course that's not it," Rachel retreated. "I just don't want you to be alone dealing with it. It was hard to know what you go through since we worked and lived apart, but now that I do know, I want to help."

"I appreciate it." Quinn deflated as her anger dissipated into her guilt. "But I've got this under control." She shifted closer to Rachel, and gained back the space she had lost in her sudden anger. "If I need anything, I'll let you know."

Rachel knew Quinn too well to believe her. She could sense the lie just as she sensed the need for her to question Quinn in the first place. "The filming hasn't been easy on you, Quinn." She, again, decided to push. "I refuse to pretend like it's not affecting you."

"And so what if it is affecting me?" Quinn didn't back away. She pushed back. "It's not like you can do anything about it now. You already let them make me into a drug fiend."

"Your character, Quinn," Rachel distinguished, "not you."

Quinn felt the accusation hit her squarely in the chest. It was direct and inescapable. "Yeah, well at least you can't say I didn't do my best for you."

Quinn's words had been so close to being a confession, but they weren't clear enough for Rachel to take any action. Anything she said would be fuel to a bigger argument. It might have even been reason for Quinn to run off and take another obscene amount of pills that were supposed to bring order to her inner chaos.

Rachel hadn't known how to win the fight. "I just want you to know that I am here for you." She reached out and covered Quinn's hands with her own. "You are more important than this show, Quinn."

"Don't overdramatize this, Rachel," Quinn warned. "We aren't the characters in this show." She stood up and then hurried out of the trailer. She didn't slam the door behind her, but anyone watching could have easily seen that Quinn wasn't happily departing her wife's presence.

Rachel dropped her face into her hands and released a helpless sigh. Her body shook from the tension rolling through her from finally raising her voice to something she had too long remained silent about.

She sat and tried to control her breathing. She was unsure for how long she had been sitting when there was a soft knock on the trailer's door. For a brief moment, she considered that it might be Quinn returning, but then she remembered that Quinn never knocked.

With one more calming breath, Rachel gathered her control and then called for her visitor to enter.

"Hey Rachel," Maxwell began speaking without looking at the woman he addressed, "I saw Quinn leave so thought it might be okay for us to go over this scene. There are a couple of things I want to try..." His words only trailed off once he saw the red rimmed eyes looking back at him. "Are you crying?"

"Oh," Rachel wiped at her eyes, "I was just trying to get into the right mental space for what we're filming."

"Yeah?" He asked with a hint of doubt shining in his eyes.

"Yeah," she replied. "So what is it that you wanted to go over?"

He hesitated a moment but found the reassurance he needed in Rachel's welcoming smile. "Okay well I was thinking that instead of playing this like you really didn't suspect what was going on with me and Quinn's character that we kind of work it like you've always known. Because really, who's surprised when the world comes crashing down on them? Things like this don't suddenly happen."

"You don't think that they can?" Rachel wondered.

Maxwell shook his head, "No way, man. That's like being surprised your arm's broken when it's twisted up the wrong way. Life isn't too different...when shit gets twisted up the wrong way, we know but we just pretend like it's a sprain or something stupid like that."

"I am unsure that is always the case," Rachel countered. "Isn't love supposed to be blind?"

"No," Maxwell quickly disagreed. "Love isn't blind; it's forgiving. It gives chance after chance until it can't give anymore."

"I'll love Quinn forever, Maxwell," Rachel admitted. "There are no limits on that."

Maxwell's face shifted as he realized he was suddenly involved in a conversation that had very little to do with _Hardwired_. "Okay," he drew out the word. "But who says you can't love someone and be fed up with their shit at the same time? At some point, self-preservation kicks in."

"Have you ever loved someone?" Rachel bluntly asked. "Love beyond reason?"

"No," Maxwell shook his head, "I'm not that kind of guy."

"Well," Rachel released a breath and ran a still shaking hand through her hair, "I am that kind of girl."

"I know," Maxwell admitted. "I see that with you and Quinn."

"You do?" Rachel was genuinely curious as to what her friend saw. She hardly spoke about her marriage with others, so was suddenly eager to hear how she and Quinn might appear to the world.

"Yeah, you guys like inhabit your own world, you know?" He explained. "It's intimidating and kind of hard to be around, because no one else can be a part of it-it makes the entire world a third wheel."

Rachel nodded, "So if our characters had that, if they only lived in their own world, then how could I ever know you cheated on me?"

"I don't know," Maxwell shrugged. "How could you not?"

Finally, Maxwell decided to shed the hypotheticals that surrounded them and asked, "Are you worried about Quinn? Do you think she's having an affair?"

Rachel almost laughed at the blunt inquiry. Of course she didn't think that her wife was having an affair. It had long ago been settled between them that Quinn's act of an affair could have only come in the very beginnings of their marriage when Quinn had one last urge to push away belonging to someone.

"I can assure you that Quinn cheating on me is something I have no need to worry about," Rachel easily declared.

"Okay," Maxwell just as easily accepted Rachel's declaration. "Then what are you worried about?"

"I'm not," Rachel lied. "It's just interesting to debate something so personal."

Maxwell's dark eyes evaluated every inch of Rachel's face. He couldn't tell if she was lying, because he didn't know her well enough. He wasn't in love with her. As a matter of fact, he kind of thought that Rachel was a genius for talking out the scene with him in such a way that forced him to open up the possibilities.

"Well, cool then," he muttered and then turned back towards the door. "I'm going to go over this again."

"I'll see you out there," Rachel replied making no move to follow him since she wasn't yet ready to face anyone else.

"Thanks," Maxwell offered before he exited the trailer, clueless to the whirlwind he walked away from.

Once the door was firmly closed, Rachel stood and took measured steps towards the counter that her mobile phone rested on. She picked it up and then scrolled through her calendar until the current date was brought up and awaiting an appointment entry.

'Pick up QP' she typed in, knowing that her code was neither unbreakable nor completely transparent. She wasn't sure if she cared that Quinn would know what it meant, she only cared that others didn't.

Once the entry was saved, she scrolled back seven days to where her previous entry 'Pick up QP' appeared.

She wasn't quite sure why she had decided to keep a log of each instance Quinn's prescriptions were filled, but in keeping it she at least felt like she was doing something. She felt like she, in some small way, was looking out for her wife even if all Quinn did was push her away.

So, when Quinn wondered why Rachel was so easily bowing to the powers of _Hardwired_. She hadn't yet asked why. She hadn't seen that her wife was too busy trying to save her instead of trying to save a television show that would most likely be forgotten in twenty years when a new generation of television watchers took over.


End file.
